


The Night Before It All LUCIFERXSAM

by GreenRogue



Series: In All Their Smutty Goodness [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scared Sam Winchester, Season/Series 11 Speculation, Swearing, not much comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenRogue/pseuds/GreenRogue
Summary: It's the night before the battle against Amara. There's no words left to say, no plans left to make. Dean wants to drink into oblivion, Sam just wanted some sandwiches.a partner piece to "Devil's Hunting Ground LUCIFERXSAM" as requested by LaurenDixon98
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Series: In All Their Smutty Goodness [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476878
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The Night Before It All LUCIFERXSAM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaurenDixon98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenDixon98/gifts).



> This is a work of Fiction, I do not own Supernatural or the characters, I just like to play with them.
> 
> this is a sequel or companion piece to my Part 5 in the "In All Their Smutty Goodness" collection. Not necessarily required you read the Devil's Hunting Ground first as it's not really referenced much, but both do belong together. This was a request piece, I am currently taking requests whether you want a sequel, prequel, or something original just send me a message!

* * *

_LUCIFERXSAM_

* * *

_Sam watches as Dean’s face seems to crumble with the slow realization of how utterly screwed this plan is._

_“First Cas is making kamikaze side plans, and now you? You couldn’t have talked to me?”_

_“We did talk”. Is all he mutters, a half shrug pulling at the still healing bite marks on his shoulders. Sam runs through the motions, assuring and arguing with Dean. Half of his attention on Lucifer, always on Lucifer. He still feels the cold grace as it lazily swirls in the room, he can see Chuck watching the discussions in front of him. The shorter man has a face of agitated unease but smiles briefly when they make eye contact. Sam ducks his head and tries to concentrate on Dean, his brother, his last lifeline in a shitty ass world._

_“So, what am I supposed to do, just sit by and watch?” Sam shakes his head and tries to look in his brother’s eyes without flinching._

_“No. We’re both in this fight. You’re leading this army”._

_“Oh, you mean babysitting the bad guys?” A surprise laugh escapes him and Sam smiles at the exasperated expression on Dean’s face. He tries to commit it to memory, these final moments where he brother was working **with** him rather than alone. Dean’s eyes still shimmer with hesitance and unease. Sam watches as he glances at the other occupants in their home, eyes lingering longer on Cas before straightening his spine and nodding his head with resolve._

_“Okay, Sam. God’s plan”. Because that’s what life always was, wasn’t it? Some great, mysterious plan for God’s creatures._

* * *

Holy fuck did Dean hate that saying. Hated the way when anything bad ever happened the fall back was always ‘ _its part of God’s great plan’._ Sam had quietly and carefully escaped from the library for some privacy, Dean leaving shortly behind him. Each party separated to spend what was most likely their last night in this existence doing whatever it is to make it bearable. Currently Dean had his favorite Metallica album running full blast in his headphones. A pleasant buzz numbing his thoughts as he finished the half bottle of whiskey he kept hidden under his bed. Slowly his mind was rolling around the thoughts of the extra bottle he kept hidden in the kitchen before in his mind he saw a flash of a tan trench coat and bright blue eyes.

A sudden molten ball of hatred and anger sat in Dean’s stomach as he thought about his angelic friend. The one who’s stayed with them since the beginning, through Apocalypse to Purgatory. Sure they’ve had their stumbles, their betrayals—but Cas deserved one night of freedom before the end like everyone else. Mind made up, he started to stalk his way to wherever it was Lucifer was hiding in his final hours, most likely back to Sam’s room to mess it up some more. He was surprised though when he heard Cas’s voice from the kitchen, the gravelly tone too quiet to make out the words. For a second Dean thought maybe it was Cas. Their angel and brother, speaking so softly as to not disturb the Winchesters as he conversed with Chuck or Crowley. Inching slowly to the doorway, he leaned against the cold cinderblocks trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. Tried to gage if he’d get to see his friend one last time. Biting his lip in agitation he sighed quietly when all he could pick out was droning monotone noises. As he prepared to step into the light of the doorway, his blood froze in his veins at the clatter of dishes and a dark chuckle followed by a light whimper. His mind seemed to shut down briefly before flaring back to life at the sound of his brother’s broken voice and Chuck’s urgent shout,

“Please—stop—“

“What the **Hell** do you think you’re doing?”

* * *

As far as possible last meals go, a marsh mellow fluff and peanut butter sandwich wasn’t the worst that Sam could come up with. Meticulously, Sam spread the gooey mixture over their last few pieces of slightly stale bread. He couldn’t even remember the last time they did a food run. Salad mixings were wilted, hamburger meat turned an interesting shade of gray-- it was not the most appetizing selection of nourishment to choose from on a final night on earth. Sam rolled his neck to work out a few kinks, trying to ignore the burning itch on his shoulder under the bandages; the slight twinges a reminder of the last time he’d ventured into the shower rooms.

Sam blinked rapidly against the rising images and took a deep, sharp breath as he let the knife in his hand clatter into the sink. A small stack of sandwiches, neatly arranged on the last clean plate sat on the counter. Briefly he entertained the idea of grabbing the bottle of whiskey under the sink, the one Dean thought he so expertly hidden. ‘ _Wonder if it’d be bad luck to drown in booze the night before you might die—?’_ Sam smiled ironically at himself, who was he kidding? A single bottle shared between a functioning alcoholic and a 6’4” little brother would barely make the night passable let alone allow oblivion to wrap her gentle embrace around their aching bones. Sam took another deep breath before readying himself to squeeze his existence into his brother’s room for what could be the final time. His fingers barely grazed the cool porcelain of the plate before achingly familiar grace wrapped itself around his wrist, gently pulling the barely resistance arm behind his back.

Sam’s heart stuttered in his chest, muscles loosely restrained under his vibrating skin as dark waves of shame and despair sucked his voice from his throat. _‘Please, Lucifer—not tonight—give me just tonight—‘._ But there was no fighting this. Cas’s chuckle vibrated in the chest that was firmly planted against Sam’s rigid back. His fingers grazed against a lapel of the familiar coat and Sam grabbed at it against his better judgement.

“Easy Sammy, easy—we’ve got all night.” Sam could feel the cool fingers trail down his chest and circle his naval before reaching even further before snapping loose the button on his jeans. In a sort of hazy cloud of disassociation, Sam watched as the familiar slender hand eased up his under shirt before disappearing under his boxers. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion for a moment before he felt those fingers trail softly over the warm flesh of his cock. The hairs on his body stood on end as cool flesh stroked and griped his sensitive skin. Vaguely he was aware he was panting heavily, air exiting his body faster than he could inhale as he felt the collar of his flannel and shirt pull away from his neck.

“I love seeing my marks on you Sammy, such a good boy for, me taking care of them. Keeping them clean like you love them. Such a good little bitch.” He can feel Lucifer pull away the medical tape and gauze. A hot tongue laving at the half healed marks, probing at tender skin. Sam whimpers and leans away from the stimulation only for the hand on his dick to increase its pressure.

“Don’t be like that Sam, this could be our last night together. Let’s make it count”. He feels a slight tugging on his hip and the whisper tickle of his pants falling away and pooling around his feet before frigid grace slicks against his ass and up into his hole. He barely has enough energy to shout before a hand clamps over his mouth and teeth bite against his earlobe. The hand on his dick twists and flicks as the grace nudges deeper inside and grows, a cold weight pressing against his overheated skin.

“Such a good bitch for me Sammy, my Sammy- gonna *fuck* gonna feel so good on my cock. Made for it slut, all you were made for. Shit *hehe* Castiel isn’t too happy at the moment.” Sam tries to jerk from Lucifer’s grasp, mind rushing through fragmented thoughts too quickly for his consciousness to keep up. He’s hyperventilating now, one re-emerging, screaming echo causing blind panic to set in. _‘Cas can see, Cas knows, Cas can see, Cas knows—Dear God please no—‘_

He’s shoved forward, plate with its sandwiches shoved to the side with a clatter as freezing grace pins his neck against the countertop. Lucifer’s maniac chuckle echoes in his ears as the feeling of a hard nudge starts to brush against his hole. For the first time since he’s been in the kitchen a sob hitches in his chest as he quietly begs,

“Please—stop—“ His vision is graying from lack of oxygen, he barely registers when Lucifer jerks away from his shivering form and doesn’t acknowledge the outraged voice echoing in his hollow head.

“What the **Hell** do you think you’re doing?”

* * *

When it comes down to it, Dean understand why Lucifer got away with barely a reprimand. When you need the sonofabitch there’s not much you can do to punish a piece of shit like that without losing some leverage. But just because he understands, doesn’t mean he isn’t pissed the fuck off.

The image of Sam bent over the counter top, a broken plate with scattered sandwiches on the floor around him and pants around his ankles would be one of those forever engrained in his memory. A constant reminder that, for Sam at least, not all torments relied on apocalyptic level events. Dean ran his hand through his brother’s hair for the umpteenth time. A God induced coma keeping him under while is body healed and mind processed what almost – _fuck—_ what **had** happened while in his own home. Dean wasn’t stupid, when he worked with Chuck of stripping the unconscious man they had both seen the half healed bite marks. Chuck’s face grimaced in guilt before healing the indents from Sam’s skin. He barely met Dean’s eye before making an excuse to flee the hunter’s bedroom as quickly as possible.

Lucifer was snapped someplace for a “moment of reflection” as Chuck had put it, not that Dean gave a flying fuck. All thoughts of seeing his friend again flew out the window the moment he saw Sam was in trouble. Trouble caused by said friend who—no, now’s not the time for blame. He sighed heavily before resting his head in his fists and letting a few self-indulgent tears drip down to darken his jeans. It wasn’t fair, none of this stupid god awful mess was fair. Looking back at Sam’s face, Dean leaned forward and rested a hand on his brother’s cheek, the warm skin under his calloused fingers a long time comfort.

“Sammy—I can’t—I can’t make this right, not right now. But I promise you—before the end I will make this right. I promise little brother. You and me Sammy.” Dean half expected an answer but smiled at the light chuffing breath as Sam snuggled deeper into sleep.

Dean didn’t know what tomorrow was going to bring. No that’s not true, he knew one way or another tomorrow was going to bring pain. A lot of it. He didn’t waste his time on prayers or hopes. He accepted the pain they would get tomorrow and accepted they would either grow stronger from it, or crumble. He did selfishly wish he could save Sam from it, from the battle and the looming future with the Mark. But he did not dare to hold onto that wish, it wouldn’t do to let it infect him with useless hope. They had a job to do and for better or worse they’d do it, together. Dean was reminded briefly by what his dad used to say and what he told Sam all those years ago when they were all they had left:

_Saving people, hunting things—the family business_


End file.
